Beautiful
by Araceli L
Summary: What is true beauty, and what makes a person beautiful? A simple story. Hoorah for my 20th fic!  I really don't know if "spiritual" is the right category, but for now it's the only one that fits.


**A/N: So, it's nice to learn some people don't read my author's notes – seriously, do I trail on **_**that **_**much? My last piece, the sestina, was supposed to be written that way, and guys (Yes, EggplantWitch and Lovingyourillusion, I'm looking at you) the ending words were supposed to be repeated. I found it pretty repetitive too, but that's the way it's supposed to be. Anyway, thanks for reviewing that guys!(: You were all very kind for my attempt at poetry, haha. Thanks again! **

**Anyway, for this piece, I actually wrote it before reading MessengerofDreams's "Beautiful Imperfection" and I just wanted to say I was incredibly inspired by that, and this isn't meant to like, conflict with that. I was actually hoping it might continue on the message. So, that's that. Now read and I'll attempt to make my A/N's shorter.(:**

**Beautiful**

Have you ever seen the ocean in the sunset? Snow glimmering gently in the dawn? Have you ever seen a falling star?

My girl was more beautiful than them all, and a thousand lines of poetry could do her no justice. No light blazing from heaven above could outshine her – no angel could compare to her. No music, sweeter than the moonlight it may be, could ever satisfy its need to be as glorious as she; nothing and no one was like her. As unique the colorful currents of the wind was my precious; and beautiful she was, swift like the sun.

I'd met her in a dream, or so it seems. It was as if she were nothing but an image of my hopes – the girl from the sky, who would one day come to save me. She seemed a worthless dream. She appeared a beautiful angel.

I know that by now I have tried to describe her beauty to the extent of your patience – yet I have not even begun. I could fill the sea with scrolls of scrawl of her loveliness, but it would be to no avail – it would not come near to her majesty.

She made me want to be a better person – is that possible? For me, someone so cruel and cold, to be touched by an angel?

I still recall the day I glimpsed her. I still remember how I couldn't bear the sight of her – yet I wanted more. I needed to see her again.

And this in itself wasn't uncommon. She was a shapely woman, tall and slender and elegant, but when I reviewed the sight of her in my mind, lust was not at the forefront. I didn't want to just look at her. I wanted to know her.

So I put on my best charm, my roguish grin, my slyest wink, and confronted her. I could tell she didn't buy into it – the way she looked at me, with some sort of hidden idea in the back of her glance, was her very subtle tell. I suddenly felt deeply ashamed, and dropped all my pretenses. Only afterward was I awestruck at how very quickly she disarmed me.

I suppose it was that thing about her. You wanted to be good in her presence – not perfect, just _good. _The best that you could be. You knew she would accept it, and in fact, that she would delight in it, that she would be _proud _of you – and that pride was all you wanted.

I suppose this 'thing' was her very self. She was gentle, correcting me with a delicate acknowledgement; generous, always giving to those around her and never asking for anything in return; wise, thoughtful, and intelligent; yet she was also vivacious, and you could never for an instant doubt her sincerity. She seemed to bring out the best in people, and I was no exception, just exceptionally lucky.

She was dignified, strong, and kind – wondrously, amazingly kind. She would never say a hurtful word about anybody, even as they blatantly insulted her, because her dignity would not allow it. She was far too respectable to sink to their level, because of her wisdom – she knew what they wanted, and she refused to give it to them, which made her strong. As painful as the rumors they spread about her, she was strong – and she knew they actually turned her into a better person (if that is possible), stronger.

She cared for everybody, even those who stabbed her, and her compassion seemed to glow through her. Her love was perhaps the most beautiful of all: it knew no bounds, it was freely given, and it was the purest thing about her, perhaps the closet thing we have to the truth.

And when you were around her – it was almost like you wanted to impress her, but it was much, much more. You _needed _to be as good as her. You saw how happy, content, and beautiful she was – and you knew you could be the same. It was a want so strong it was a need. And it burned within my chest like my flaming heart.

Of course she had flaws – we all do. But they helped shape her as a person, and, knowing that, she embraced them. She tried to work on them, not to make herself perfect, but to make herself good. She understood the dangers of trying to be perfect – instead she tried to be herself.

And her beauty? What made her so beautiful was her morals, her dreams, and her very heart.

She had beautiful eyes, because she saw the best in people.

She had beautiful lips, because she spoke sincerely, kindly, and honestly.

She had beautiful hands, because she used them to sculpt a better world.

She had a beautiful face, because it lit up with that happiness that came from within.

She had a beautiful smile, because it was filled with all the love in the world.

She had a beautiful mind, because she was so understanding and caring.

She had a beautiful soul, because she loved.

She was beautiful because she was herself.

I suppose you could say she was pretty, too. I'd call her the fairest of them all, but 'pretty' is a passing thing. Beauty is within the heart. The most beautiful things it the world cannot be seen, only felt, and this was true of her love for me. It was true about her, completely. Her beauty is eternal, and 'pretty' fades.

I called myself the most fortunate man alive, to be loved by one so beautiful. And truly, I am. She had faith in me – something that no one had ever done before. It was amazing to be believed in – to feel like somebody cared so much about my own plans and my own directions and values. And I will never forget her.

Now, as I stand here, alone in the sky, I know she is smiling upon me. A quiet wind ruffles my hair, and I can still see every aspect of her beauty around me – but the wind is like her love: I can't see it, but I can feel it. And I will always remember her beautiful soul, for it shone as bright as the daybreak.

And she will always be beautiful.

**A/n: What can I say about this one? Not much character development, but that wasn't the idea. I wanted to make a statement on beauty (obviously) and I hope everyone got my message. I tried to lay it on thick – honestly, I'm very proud of this. If I had more time (and rest) I would turn it into a long story, but no need. Sure, you can find many things to criticize it, but it was more intended for inspiration than criticism. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and please review! (Also, I may rework this one sometime, but for the time being I'll use this.)**


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